The Damaged Man
by Jenova-chan
Summary: There was no other night quite like this one. Lucky Badou then, that Heine also feels the pull from ages past. Rated M for safety. Heine/Badou


First attemp to write anything for DOGS, and it's not really my strong suite to write characters such as these babies. I love them to bits, but I feel like they come out a wee bit odd. Well, practice makes perfect, yes?

Disclaimer: I do not own DOGS: Bullets and Carnage.

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The Underground was nothing more than a place were bad things had happened, really. It was a place, like every other in the Town of Don't Ask, Don't Tell, and Badou knew that. Nothing worth thinking about there, no sir.

The only difference between Above and Underground were, apart from the obvious difference in height above sea-level, the people. Bad apples seemed to fall down, down to where the infection could fester unhindered and untreated, seen as something to almost be revered and not feared.

The people in the Underground wore shrouds and veils of darkness, lonely souls and bloodlust, people whom should never be let up Above. The beings that crawled out from that place, that _crypt_, were the real problem and not the place itself.

Although, Heine had come from there. He had walked up Above and started a fucking war, something that was more suited for the stories the Bishop read from his Holy Book.

Some time he'd have to ask the creepy priest what the dusty tome said exactly.

But not now. Not today, because smoke was rising from the Underground, smoke he saw because he knew where to look, and somewhere a dog barked. Another joined soon enough, and they howled at the dark and damp night, at a moon that was no longer there. And still the flames rose from Below.

Where there was smoke there was fire, Badou knew because he was an expert on the matter of smoke of all kinds. But this fire was one he'd rather not see up close. He had a feeling that if you played with that flame, you wouldn't get hurt. You'd burn. Like a fucking funeral pyre.

Oh.

Heine was back, and he smelled of metal and mold, a cold and clingy scent that pierced through Badou's cigarette haze. He'd been searching again, the Underground had been his destination this night, like the previous two. Badou could tell by the scent only.

He could tell by the sounds that the search had been fruitless tonight too. He was sure he'd have to move out soon, hopefully without his landlord noticing, because he couldn't fix the shower forever and the pipes were taking Heine's ruthless abuse very badly. Their metallic and shrill squealing solemnly tried to fill the silence in the apartment, trying their very best but only succeeding in making the silence even heavier.

"_I wonder why he keeps returning."_

The hot, moist wave of steam rolling lazily over the cold floor indicated that the albino was done showering off the blood, grime and whatever else he'd managed to smear across his skin this time, and the heavy, hollow thunks his feet made on the cracked linoleum indicated that Badou would soon have company.

He didn't care, his back had long since numbed off and he had a full stock of cigarettes and a lighter to boot. The white freak could join him where he was, perched on the windowsill and silently looking towards the west, towards the place where he knew Below met Above.

"The fuck are you staring at, shithead?"

Really now, wasn't it nice to have him home again? Badou craned his neck to look at his partner, silently noting the place on his left upper arm where the skin still sizzled, happily closing something that looked more like someone had tried to slice Heine's arm right off than a regular knife wound. It was black at the edges, disgustingly pinkish in the middle and it clashed horribly with the stark white of Heine's skin. He'd been to the Underground alright.

"Tch. You going to ignore me all night asshole?" There was a snarling laugh, a flicker of dead boys and girls in Heine's voice.

The Dog was still lurking around somewhere, Badou assumed.

"_I wonder why he keeps coming back."_

Any other night and Badou would've been snapping right back at him, calling him names and cussing like he'd been born with a razor instead of a tongue. But not tonight.

Tonight he was blind on one eye, tonight he could barely hold a cigarette in his right hand. Tonight every scar burned, and tonight his brother died again. This night, Badou would cry for the last time of his life and this night everything would change.

Tonight was the night, all those years ago, that Badou had first stared wide eyed into the unfathomable darkness of the Underground.

A hand roughly grabbed his chin and the cigarette fell from his lips. Oh well. He had more.

"Seriously, what the _hell _is it you're doing?" Heine growled, his face barely inches from Badou's.

Heine had showered, cleaned up good. But his breath still betrayed him, and even through the smell of slowly dying cigarettes Badou could still catch the sharp scent of blood. Charming.

"_I wonder why he's here."_

"Why do you care?" His voice was raspy from a day of silence, raw with things Badou choose not to look at, to recognize, and the remark could have been dismissive, maybe even a bit sarcastic, but it came out all wrong.

His eye glanced out the window again, and Heine abruptly released his chin. From the corner of his eye, he saw ruby red eyes fixate _that _spot for a millisecond, flicker over to his hunched form and then back again.

Ah. So he'd noticed. Perceptive little doggy that one.

Heine snarled, more of _him _than before, and carelessly raked a hand through the mop of snow-white hair. Then he stood silently by the window, glaring out at the moonless night. Beautiful, insane, amazing freakshow Heine, the hell-hound that saved and endangered Badou's life more times than he could count.

"Go away." Badou gargled out.

There was a hiss from Heine. "Fuck off."

Badou lit a new cigarette, Dave's favorite brand, and remembered his brother's last smile. No wonder why he only smoked this brand once a year.

They tasted fucking disgusting. How the hell his brother had been able to smoke that shit was beyond Badou.

They stayed like that for a while, for how long neither of them cared to take note of, both motionless and without words. At the horizon, black gave way to shades of gray and milky white as dawn begun to fight the night's vicious hold. By that time, the ashtray was a graveyard of stubs and glowing embers.

Suddenly there was a hand grabbing at his arm, ruthlessly pulling him from his perch and sending him crashing into Heine. Badous legs wouldn't co-operate, numbed and stiff from all that uncomfortable crouching, and he uttered an unintelligible sound of protest as Heine didn't wait for him to get adjusted, instead he started walking towards the bedroom with Badous upper arm still in his iron grip. He had no choice but to awkwardly stumble after.

"I don't have time for this." Heine muttered and Badou didn't know what he meant.

It was ungraceful as always, but tonight the frenzied tempo was off; slowed down and unsynchronized as Badou was pushed and pulled onto the old, creaky thing they called bed without much of a fight. He didn't _want_ to fight, he realized, couldn't fight _Heine_.

Heine's hands would make him forget again, and in the Dog's eyes he saw the same want. Badou would make Heine forget about the atrocities, forget for just a little while that they were both inevitably bound to the Underground. Maybe that's why the pale hands were so hurried, ripping clothes and skin alike.

It was rougher than it used to be, and somewhere between teeth biting into his shoulder and fingers pressing into him almost dry, he cried out in pain. He could pretend it was only because Heine didn't know shit about being loving, or the fact that he didn't have any common sense at all, and not that his emotions were like strung piano-wire on this day, ready to snap and coil at nothing.

There was a brief, almost nonexistent pause. "Tell me to stop and I will." Heine's voice was ragged, deep and hushed by his ear. It was an honest statement, the one chance he had to back out before the flames of the Underground licked at the soles of his feet. But it was a new day now.

"_I wonder why he does this."_

"Fuck off." Badou moaned, and was promptly shoved harder into the mattress. The springs creaked and broke, something sharp poked him in the side but it was alright because he wasn't the only one needing this.

Sweat slicked their bodies, made every move slippery, and Badou's cries were turned into groans and gasps. Heine was quiet tonight, more so than usual, but his rumbling growls and hissed curses punctuated every other sharp thrust of his hips, sounds he tried to muffle by biting at Badou's skin.

There was blood pooling in the clavicle of Badou's collarbone, blooming bruises in murky shades of purple and green slowly spreading on his arms and hips, and somehow it overshadowed the pain in his eye, in his hand and in his head. Heine _marked _and Badou did the same, clawing fingers digging deep into the Dog's back, his own teeth catching Heine's lips.

The world became a blur of white hair and red eyes, hands pulling at his hair and bodies moving like one, memories faded and the feeling returned. Badou didn't know how long they kept going, but it didn't feel like it was an outdrawn affair. He found release as Heine shoved himself deeper than he thought even imaginable, pale lips covering his own and effectively drinking his keening moan.

Heine followed suit not even a minute after. It wasn't until the ringing in Badou's ears ceased that he noticed that the dogs outside still barked.

"_I wonder why he's still here."_

Heine hovered above him, fingers tracing scars, both new and old, looking like he was in deep thought. Badou took the opportunity to look at the drying blood on Heine's chin, the only clue to what Badou's teeth had done to Heine's lip that still remained. He found himself relishing in it, drinking in the knowledge that Heine survived _everything. _

Scars faded into nothingness, memories would fall into hazy forgetfulness, but Heine would always be the same, would always be there even if he went away for days, even weeks without notice. He came back because _Heine would not die, _but he needed a reminder that he wasn't already gone_. _

Badou had been chosen as that reminder, that wake-up call.

Flattering, really. Also really messed up. He wasn't complaining in the least though.

He felt fingers ghost over the new bite marks on his shoulder, smearing cooling blood over his arm and neck in the process.

"You're still alive." Heine muttered, so low that Badou had to concentrate on every word that fell from the pale lips. "You bleed and you bear _my_ marks. You're still here..." It was hard to determine if it was Heine or the Dog speaking. The nuances in his voice fluctuated, but only slightly, making it an intricate weave of possessive and relieved words. "If you're alive, then I'm alive. I did this to you, so I'm still alive."

The logic was uncharacteristically true in its essence, but Badou didn't find it reassuring. He saw the turmoil in the ruby eyes for what it was, having felt something similar just hours ago. Unspeakable things, things seen and forgotten only to be re-lived again.

"Bad trip?" He rasped out, voice hoarse and hurting.

The eyes snapped up to meet his gaze. "It's the Underground. What in that shithole is _not _bad?" Heine growled out, sliding out of Badou and flopping down beside him instead.

Badou shrugged. Bad apples fell down, down and even lower still. He shifted, felt the dull, burning throb in his lower back but didn't comment on it, and looked the creature next to him. Remembered what Heine had said before he dragged Badou into the bedroom and fucked him halfway through the mattress, words he hadn't understood then.

[I don't have time for this.]

The albino's hands were still on him, heavy and strangely reassuring, and Badou thought he'd figured it out now. He wasn't stupid, despite everything Mimi said about his intellect, and when there was another throaty rumble from Heine and he was jerkily pulled closer he thought he understood why Heine stayed, why he came back and why they did what they did. Knew why he was in such a hurry to _feel._

It was their fucked up way of knowing. Just knowing that they both were still alive, still there. They were two lonely soldiers in a war that'd gone from bad to worse, straight to Hell and deeper still, but they were lonely _together. _Together it was easier to face, easier to recuperate.

Easier to forget.

Badou raised his arm and flung it around Heine's shoulder, trying to get as comfortable as possible in this cramped position and felt the skin on Heine's back _bubble _beneath his fingertips. He recoiled and was harshly reprimanded by a nip to his throat and a string of muffled curses for disrupting the stillness, the paler man already teetering on the edge of sleep.

Oh, right. He'd probably scratched Heine's back up pretty good. It was just erasing the evidence, sweeping the night away under the rug.

He relaxed again. He'd probably hurt like hell tomorrow, or... well, to be fair, it was tomorrow right now. Today, more like it. Watered-out light shone through the thin, probably moth-eaten, curtains. The dogs had stopped barking now.

Heine's breath had mellowed out. The skin stopped sizzling eventually, and Badou felt the blood on his own shoulder flake off like rust, leaving the tender skin bare.

It was strange how Badou could bleed and break and scar, but the only one he thought more damaged was the unbleeding, unbreaking and unscarable raving mad experiment next to him. Why did it feel like in reality, the farthest gone was probably Heine?

( 'Cause Heine _was _from the Underground, where the bad people came together.)

He snorted and closed his eyes.

"_I _really _need a fucking cigarette."_


End file.
